Surrounded by snoring dogs.
Their sonorous sounds abound
As they slumber in stillness.

Their warmth blankets and shields me
from the frosty world outside.
O what a blessing it is to be
surrounded by snoring dogs

People will miss that it once meant something to be Southern or Midwestern. It doesn't mean much now, except for the climate. The question, “Where are you from?” doesn't lead to anything odd or interesting. They live somewhere near a Gap store, and what else do you need to know? - Garrison Keillor

Surrounded by snoring dogs.
Their sonorous sounds abound
As they slumber in stillness.

Their warmth blankets and shields me
from the frosty world outside.
O what a blessing it is to be
surrounded by snoring dogs

Not to be overtly gushy, but this is very...what's the word? You just cranked that out, bro! and it's got this very comfortable, warm rhythm. I'm going to get a cup of hot chocolate, look at the freshly fallen snow (yes, it's true) and read this again. Then I'll follow up with a nice short story.

Nothing still about these beasts. These dogs like to chase bunnies, yip, thump their tails, and pass gas all while sleeping.

Twiching farting canines
cause me sleepless nights

their malodorous emissions
fill others full of fright

whatever's in their diet
results in sulf'rous fume

perhaps the time is nigh
to find another room

People will miss that it once meant something to be Southern or Midwestern. It doesn't mean much now, except for the climate. The question, “Where are you from?” doesn't lead to anything odd or interesting. They live somewhere near a Gap store, and what else do you need to know? - Garrison Keillor

Have you been peering in my windows? Yes, the cats on me, tv on, Kindle next to me, cell phone next to me, netbook next to me, propped up by pillows and blankets and surrounded by snoring dogs.

The fat cat on the mat
may seem to dream
of nice mice that suffice
for him, or cream;
but he free, maybe,
walks in thought
unbowed, proud, where loud
roared and fought
his kin, lean and slim,
or deep in den
in the East feasted on beasts
and tender men.
The giant lion with iron
claw in paw,
and huge ruthless tooth
in gory jaw;
the pard dark-starred,
fleet upon feet,
that oft soft from aloft
leaps upon his meat
where woods loom in gloom --
far now they be,
fierce and free,
and tamed is he;
but fat cat on the mat
kept as a pet
he does not forget.

It's an unwelcome guest along my foothills this morning that are making me once again pine for Santa Monica. If you're east of me it's heading your way now....

"Today felt like a thousand years of freshly fallen snow..." - local musician.

Snow falls from the Big Sky too. I pray no more comes soon. I am recovering from the worse back ache ever and I do not want to shovel the walk. I do not recall my town getting a blanket of snow before Halloween before, but here it is. Even my poplar trees have given up and are dropping their leaves. Before long the deer will be sleeping under the trampoline and munching on our poor yield of apples.

"I am very good at reading women, but I get into trouble for using the Braille method."

Here you go dearie. Drink it up quick though, those 8k randoms aren't going to post themselves you know.

People will miss that it once meant something to be Southern or Midwestern. It doesn't mean much now, except for the climate. The question, “Where are you from?” doesn't lead to anything odd or interesting. They live somewhere near a Gap store, and what else do you need to know? - Garrison Keillor

I just read the first entry in my journal following the loss of Sylvie. I have been afraid to relive the emotions and experience. I'm glad I kept such a journal. You don't think you will forget anything about such an experience but some things do fade. In the journal I likened her little fingers to bony birdie feet.

In the end, we will remember not the words of our enemies, but the silence of our friends.-Martin Luther King Jr.

We spent yesterday in Berkeley and today in San Francisco. I am now convinced that a state or local law prevents the sale of hair dye to women over 40.

We also went to the remains of the Sutro baths, drove thru Golden Gate park, and ate at Perry's on Union St. When my family came to SF in '66, I had read a Bobbsey Twins book where they went to the Japanese Tea Garden in Golden Gate Park, and of course I wanted to go. My parents, not being tea people (I'm not either) nixed that. I'm now 0 for 2. It's not so important 45 years later,